


a bathtub at the end of the world

by h0spice



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Existential Anxiety, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Journal Entries, M/M, Near Death Experience, POV First Person, Recreational Drug Use, Surrealism, ask me what this is, definitely an experimental piece, is this weird?, something existential
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 11:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0spice/pseuds/h0spice
Summary: Tyler lacks color and I can't really remember what his eyes looked like before this place. Small things keep coming to me. Pictures inside my head without sound. I see Tyler’s eyes smiling. I see his fingers wrap around my wrist. I see his fingers tugging at drawstrings on hoodies. I see the moon and I see Tyler bathed in its light. His eyes shine. What color were they?AKA Josh writes journal entries to make sense of an existential mess





	a bathtub at the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to post each entry as individual chapters but I decided that didn't feel quite right, so i edited the whole thing and here it is. Find a typo? lemme know, my eyes suck and editing is hard, i'm self conscious of typos. pls enjoy. tell me what you love and hate. tell me what you might change. tell me what worked best. wanna be a better writer.

Entry 1

My brain is an empty room. A clean slate. There’s nothing there. All of the cracks in the sidewalk blurred together on my walk down Main Street. No clue where I’m going. I know where I am, though. A park bench in an empty city. My shoes are untied. I don’t care. I think I'm still high.  The sky is cocaine white and I can't tell if it's overcast or if that's just how it's always looked. There is no sun and there is no moon.

I never realized just how empty these buildings were until now. I'm exploring rooms I've never been in inside buildings I’ve never been in. That's how I found this notebook and that cup of pens. All my favorite pens have blue ink in them. I think I want to show all the cool things I’m finding to someone, but I don’t think I know anybody.

 

Entry 2

Four buildings and thirty two rooms later, I've discovered calendars with no days and books with worn covers and picture frames with no faces in them. I'm putting them all in my room. It’s a room that’s not really  _my_ room, but it's my favorite one. I've been in a lot of rooms. This one's round with shelves lining the walls and a circular table in the middle. It's my room. I put something on every shelf and filled all the spaces so I could feel better. I'm still dizzy.

 

Entry 3

I got to thinking about this place today, and I'm not sure that I've always been here. And have I always been alone? All of these rooms can’t be for me. Where did it all go? There are too many chairs in some of these rooms to be for just one person. When did the world disappear? Where was I before I wrote that first entry? Why are all of the pages in these books I found blank? Whose faces belong in these picture frames?

 

Entry 4

In the first entry I wrote, I said that I thought I was still high, but I can't even remember if I was high. Was I high? What was I on? Who was I with? Why do I feel like I’m being hurdled into oblivion? I'm not quite sure how long I've been here. It's been at least a day, probably two. I think. Maybe. The sky has been white this entire time. Like a blank slate, or maybe an empty void. If I stare at it for too long, I swear I can feel it staring back at me.

 

Entry 5

Sometimes, I look down at myself and I realize that my hands are sharp. It's weird, because everything else around me seems too soft around the edges. Still no sunset. Still no stars. Still no moon.

 

Entry 6

When did I stop sleeping? How did I forget to sleep? Did I ever sleep or was that just a story? Sounds like a fairytale. Imagine it. People used to lie down, close their eyes, and see pictures behind their eyelids that told great stories. Sometimes those stories were strange, sometimes those stories were awful. I wonder what kind of story I’m stuck in.

I don’t think this is sleep. If it were, I don’t think I’d be sitting here wondering what sleep feels like. There’s one other possibility, but when my mind touches those thoughts, my brain recoils in fear. I feel my head start to buzz and my ears ring. My mind feels like it’s exploding. I’m just sleeping.

That’s all this is. I’m just sleeping and I have wake up.

 

Entry 7

I can't remember what this place looked like before the black and white set in. I didn’t even really notice it happening until it was too late. What does blue look like? Is the grass green with life or is it turning brown and dormant? I wish I could remember what i did before this place lost everything. I'm beginning to get a little bored. I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I’m running out of places to put all my favorite things inside of my favorite room. I moved all but two chairs out of that room. Seeing them all, it made me feel lonely.

I have more questions in my head than there are blank pages on these shelves.

 

Entry 8

I took a walk today, because I wanted to check for others like me. I only found a house. It's not a remarkable house. It’s a pretty shitty house actually, and there are hundreds of other houses in this place, but this house is different. It has a front porch with a broken rail, empty ceramic pots framing the concrete steps. One of the pots has a split in the side. All the cracks in the walkway are overgrown with weeds and vines, letting slivers of concrete show between all the leaves. This house feels strange and I can't look at it for too long. It makes my head feel weird, and yet I’m sat outside on the curb anyway. Sick fascination. If I sit facing it, my eyes avoid the windows. If I face away from it, all the hair on my neck stands on end, as if the house is watching me. I can’t win. The house is sharp around the edges.

 

Entry 9

It makes all the other houses look like copies of copies of copies. This house is familiar and new. This house strikes a lonely chord inside of me. Pictures blur together inside my mind.  _Noise. Laughter. Who's laughing? Colors. Green. Red. Yellow. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue._

I can't walk away from the house without feeling emptier than I did before. Did I feel this empty yesterday? Or is there a yesterday? I can't tell how long I've been here. I've been sitting in the middle of the road outside of this house. I got halfway down the block before the feeling inside of me pulled me back here. I think I hate it but I can't be sure. Maybe I just don’t hate it as much as I hate thinking that maybe I’m de--

Stop. That’s not it. I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping.

Mostly, I’ve just been patiently waiting for a car to hit me, wake me up. No luck. I’m the only one here.

 

Entry 10

I tried to go back to my favorite room today, but I blinked and found myself back on this road, staring at the house that makes me feel strange. So I tried to leave again, this time without blinking, but as I turned a corner, I found the house once again. I want to leave. All of my stuff is in that room. But I can't leave this house. I'm not sure I should. Maybe it’s okay. I don’t think I can even remember how to get back to my favorite room. I think I’ve been here for too long.

 

Entry 11

Was that howling noise always there? It sounds like wind blowing through a tunnel. It comes in waves. It’s high then it’s low, blowing through the holes in my chest like I’m some kind of instrument. Sounds like nothing else and it makes me feel twice as empty. I don’t feel any wind. Has it always been that way? I can't tell if it's hot or cold.

Still void of everything. No sun. No moon. No stars. I'm starting to think that maybe this place doesn't exist. I am not a real person. I can't remember writing my first entry, but maybe I'm still high.

 

Entry 12

I had to go inside of the house because that sound was getting to me. Now I can't stop paying attention to the noise. The howling wind. The rattling in my own chest as I breathe. How much I need to just feel a cigarette between my fingers, even though I can't even remember what a cigarette tastes like. Was there a layer of dust on everything in every other building I entered before? I can't remember. I’m leaving handprints on every surface, making this place mine. Picture frames with nothing in them line the walls, and now they’re covered in my fingerprints. I’m walking into somebody’s life, but it’s lacking.

 

Entry 13

I found him today. How did I forget about him? Why wasn't I looking for him? He's standing in the bathroom of this house, just as blurry as the rest of this town, staring at himself in the mirror. Not moving. Not talking. I'm looking at a photograph from an antique camera. This place is painted in greyscale. Tyler lacks color and I can't really remember what his eyes looked like before this place. Small things keep coming to me. Pictures inside my head without sound. I see Tyler’s eyes smiling. I see his fingers wrap around my wrist. I see his fingers tugging at drawstrings on hoodies. I see the moon and I see Tyler bathed in its light. His eyes shine. What color were they?  Was this what the house wanted me to find? Tyler’s shoes are untied.

 

Entry 14

I touched him today. Held his hand.  Felt like television static. He didn't react. I'm afraid of talking to him. I'm still not sure if he's the Tyler I used to know. He might be different. It’s this  _place_ doing it to him, I know it. Is this place a place I used to know? Did we live in this house together? Was this our favorite house? He's staring down at the ground. The tiles are smudged, cracked. He looks empty. I wonder if he can see me. What do I look like? He looks tired. Hoodie wrinkled. One sleeve pulled up around his elbow, one falling over the knuckles of his hand. The drawstrings were uneven, so I straightened them out.

 

Entry 15

I spoke to him today and I swear I could hear him talking back, even though his mouth wasn't moving. He didn't say anything familiar.

He said, "I never liked it that much. It was always on and off and then on again.” And then, “I don't think we'll make it that far." It didn't make much sense. I don’t think I know what he meant. I tried to look into his eyes. Black and white and gray, just like everything else. I don't think he can see me. Maybe he doesn't know that he can see me. Does he know he's fading? Is he aware of what the house is doing to him? Was I like him before I started writing? I keep thinking that I want to go home, but what if this is my home? I’m just sleeping.

 

Entry 16

He moved today. He moved. For a split second, I swear he knew I was there. His lips moved into the smallest of smiles as I said his name. He's just standing there, so still; there but also not there, getting a little blurrier as time passes. I'm not sure I like this. He's not like the rest of this place, why can’t he be sharp around the edges like me?

I wonder, when this howling wind comes for me, if Tyler can come too.   

 

Entry 17

There's a thing in my mind now. A memory maybe. Or just a thought. A picture, really. It’s all so fucking fleeting, every time the shaking fingers of my mind try to grasp a singular thought, it slips and falls from my grip.

Pills. Little blue pills, and for some reason, they remind me of Tyler's eyes. Are his eyes blue? The pills were caffeine bitter. Maybe Tyler’s eyes are dark like coffee. There were twelve of them in the palm of a hand. Was it my hand? The howling wind is only getting louder. This place is beginning to feel empty the way my chest feels empty. I think the house is done with me, but I’m not finished here. I have to save Tyler.

 

Entry 18

I just noticed the clock above the door ticking away, but it doesn't have any hands. If time exists here, I’ve yet to see any evidence of it.  I keep telling Tyler about this place, hoping that he'll say something that’ll make sense; something that’ll make me less scared of it. I swear when he talks, he becomes a little clearer, just for a second. He hasn't moved since yesterday. When I look him in the eye all I can see is those twelve pills. I wish I could tell if a yesterday exists. I try to count to sixty to the beat of the clock, but I lose count twelve times and give up.

 

Entry 19

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelve

Words like  _hyper-fixation_ and  _obsession_ fly through my mind as I count the pills inside my head. I’m not sure why they don’t leave my head. Scary thoughts. Maybe this is my last hurrah, but what happened to one’s life flashing before their eyes in the moments before the inevitable? This can’t be my whole life.

Writing that down made the buzzing in my head start again. I think I’m terrified.

 

Entry 20

He said, "I hate it when the light in the kitchen buzzes. Maybe the circuits aren't meeting right. I think I know what that's like.” More pictures inside of me. Flickering bulbs, kitchen sinks, Tyler’s feet on a folding chair. Tyler’s fingernails tapping the bulb, Tyler’s eyebrows drawn together. Tyler Tyler Tyler.

He said, “Look at it go. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Where did the shit come from anyway?" He lost me there, but he began repeating those words after that. "Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth" over and over. I've lost track of how long he's gone without saying something different, much like I’ve lost track of everything else. I'm positive he hasn't taken a single breath. Is he aware of what he's saying?

A light bulb inside of my mind swings back and forth. It casts no shadows. Empty.

 

Entry 21

I just realized that I haven't left the bathroom. I've forgotten what the rest of the house looks like. What did my favorite room look like? I went back and read the first few entries I wrote, but I can't remember taking those books and picture frames. I can't remember what it all looked like. Is it still there? Did I even write those entries? I'm feeling nauseous all of a sudden.

 

Entry 22

The howling never stops. It rises and falls in pitch. Constantly. And just like Tyler, it never stops for air. Back and forth and back and forth. He's still talking. I’m still nauseous. I wish I could stop him, but his edges are sharper when words come out of his mouth. I’m supposed to be saving him.

I tried to make him stop, make him say something else, I really did. Wrapped my fingers around his throat, but before I could squeeze, I saw the veins in his neck turning black, like tar running through his veins, taking him over. It all went away once my fingertips left his skin, I’ve been sitting in the bathtub ever since, watching, listening to him go on and on and on.

There’s a small window above me; fogged glass for privacy. Who puts windows in showers? I think that’s silly. Across from where I am sat, the bathtub faucet drips drips drips and makes no sound.

 

Entry 23

I tried to drag Tyler out of the bathroom. Laced my fingers with his; he squeezed my hand. Darkness ran through every capillary beneath his skin, but he followed. A mindless, hollow version of himself, repeating words  without moving his mouth. I wanted to check the sky for a sun today, but I didn't want to leave him to babble on to the sink. We made it as far as the living room, but I must have blinked because we ended up back in the bathroom. I feel like my entire world is collapsing in on itself. Wasn’t there more than this at some point? Wasn’t there ever anything else for us? Everything seems so small. I can’t breathe.

 

Entry 24

I turned the tap on, but the water made no sound. I saw it creeping towards me in the bathtub, watched the dark patches grow where it was soaking into my jeans, but it felt like nothing at all. The water running over my knuckles felt like nothing as well. Tyler, the clock without its limbs, and that howling wind are all I can hear, and it's beginning to drive me mad.

But I have to save him.

 

Entry 25

I cracked. I gripped his shoulders and I shook him until the noise stopped. The opposite of saving him. Maybe I broke him. Maybe it was a bad idea, because he finally looked up at me and now he won't look away. He's not chanting anymore, and he's as blurry as the rest of this damn place. His eyes follow me everywhere. I’m sitting in the bathtub again. The bathtub is my front row seat. I can’t get Tyler to sit. Can’t get him to do anything but stand and stare stare stare at me with his stupid perfect face and his stupid wrinkled hoodie with one stupid sleeve covering one stupid hand this isn’t fair I want to wake up I’m just sleeping I want to wake up

 

Entry 26

He doesn't stop. Never blinks never breathes never moves never stops and I hate it I hate it I hate it so fucking much. He's looking at me. Through me. Into me. His eyes are as empty as my chest, I don’t know what he’s expecting to find. I know that the house is done with me. I am powerless, stuck with a shell of the person I need the most. Why is it keeping me here? I banged my head into the wall until the shower tiles cracked. There is no blood. I’m the most empty thing in this place.

 

Entry 27

He said, "Can you see the shadows? It's so fucking weird, they never stop moving. Do you think they get tired?."

I said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His mouth moved this time. Saw the corners draw up into a smile. He said, “I wasn’t sure if you were messing with me or not. One minute, the room was spinning, and the next, the whole world was crashing down around me. Are you dying? Are you dying? Are you dying?” He still has not stopped looking at me and I can’t stop meeting his eyes. There is nothing inside of my chest. Maybe I am dying. Maybe this is what dying is.

I can’t think about it.

 

Entry 28

I think I've gone mad. What the fuck was I doing before the entries began? Have I always been here? When was the last time I wasn't empty? Where’s the sun? Where is  _everything_? I want to wake up.

He said, “I think you’re dying.”

I said, “Don’t say such a thing.”

I think I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying.

 

Entry 29

I want him to stop. He’s saying, “You’re dying, you’re dying.” I'm afraid to touch him again. I wish he would stop looking at me. This Tyler knows something I can’t accept.

“You’re dying, you’re dying.”

Dread is all I feel, soon I’ll feel nothing at all. I’m sitting in the bathtub. I keep expecting to feel droplets of cold water absorbing into my clothes, but it never comes. 

 

Entry 30

If entries are days, I've been doing this for a month. He's stopped repeating himself, and now he's babbling. He said, "I just hate going all the way to the bottom because it seems like too much work to get back to the top."

I said, “I think I know what that’s like.”

He said, "How many do you think there are? I can count at least thirteen up on the ceiling." I have no idea what he means. I picked at the broken tiles until the tips of my fingers were sliced and I could finally see blood, red and sticky. When I blinked, all that color was gone. I wish we could have a conversation that made sense.

 

Entry 31

I tried leaving today. It felt wrong and the nausea returned. I made it up the road, running at full speed with the house at least a block behind me. Enough time to check the sky for suns. And as I expected, the bathroom appeared around me after I blinked. There's no escaping this place. Tyler was still talking when I got back, as if I'd never gone anywhere. Stood in the middle of the doorway waiting to lock eyes with me, but it was all wrong. Blackness ran through his veins again, and this time, it didn’t stop. His hands were the first to turn.

I was shocked to find his skin ice cold. That dark and dirty color stained him inky black up to his forearms, and I found myself thinking, “Finally, I can feel something.” How awful. His neck turned next. Inky black and cold. Red eyes bore into mine.

He said, “Why?” with a voice that was not his own.

I said, “I’m so sorry, Tyler.”

He said, “Why why why why why--”

I said, “There is no sun, Tyler.”

Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why

 

Entry 32

Today, I looked at my reflection and saw myself for who I really am. Hardly recognized who I saw. His eyes were red rimmed, leaking blood. He smiled without my permission and showed me the razor blade on his tongue. I saw the ink run through his veins. His actions were not my own, but when I glanced down, there it was. Darkness spreading beneath my skin, blood dripping from my eyes, down my face, onto my hands and the floor. Nausea. When I gagged, I felt it rip me open on the inside. I coughed up a razor blade, heard it clatter into the sink, stained red. I vomited blood. When I screamed, the mirror shattered without making a single sound. I watched a crack form and breed tiny lightning bolts as it spread like veins over the surface. When I tried to cut myself with a shard, black dripped and traveled down my skin, but nothing stayed. When I blinked, it was all gone. No blood. No blade. No darkness. No pain. Tyler was fine too. The mirror was still in pieces in the sink, on the floor.

We are stuck.

We need to wake up.

 

Entry 33

The pills are still in my head. onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelve in the palm of my hand, but today they brought a  new memory. I think it must be Tyler's smile. I can't seem to remember anybody else. Was there ever more than just the two of us? Do they even wonder where we've gone? Who misses us?

 

Entry 34

Today, the world began to spin. The clock fell off the wall and the shards of mirror shifted on the floor.  I stopped myself from tumbling away by holding onto the edge of the bathtub. Tyler didn’t budge. He has finally stopped staring at me, but he's been rambling for ages.

He said, “Those sharp edges can’t kiss your skin the same way sunlight can.”

It’s the only thing that’s made any sense since I got here.

I asked, “Where do you think the sun went?”

He moved his mouth when he said, “I think it’s inside of you.” He said, “I think you swallowed it whole.”

 

Entry 35

He said, "Do you ever wonder how they do it, Josh? Do you ever just stop to think about the process, the ups and downs and lefts and rights? When was the last time we took that turn? I think it must have been at least eight weeks ago." Not sure what it means. It's the first time he's said my name, and the first time I realized how far gone he is now compared to when I first found him.

His edges are softer now. Fingertips fading. I think the only thing keeping him here is me. How long can I hang on to him? He thinks I swallowed the sun whole.

 

Entry 36

Did I forget my name? I think I must have. Until he said it, of course. It must have disappeared with the rest of the world. Could he say the name of every person we’ve ever met and bring them back, too? Can he say the name of every good feeling I’ve ever had and make it manifest itself inside the hole in my chest? I'm sure there was more than this before. Where did it all go? When did it all leave? When can I leave?

 

Entry 37

He said, "Why does everything have to spin, Josh? Why can't it all just stay still for once?.”

I said, “I don’t know anything anymore.”

And he said, “Yes you do. Remember that time you let me fly through our house? I swear, it's the lightest I've ever been and I haven't been weightless since. I'm so heavy now. Why did we take twelve of them?" onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelve

When I check the sky for suns, I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or relieved when I see things haven’t changed. The house doesn’t pull me back when I blink because I think it knows I’m coming back this time. If I swallowed the sun, why can’t I feel any of its warmth?

 

Entry 38

He's talking about the pills. We took pills. I asked him about them. The little blue pills, and for a split second, his eyes changed a little bit. I said, "Who's idea was it to take twelve of the blue pills?"

And he replied, "I think it was my idea." The edges don’t stay sharp for very long. I’m afraid of losing him.

 

Entry 39

I remember now. There were twelve pills, six for each of us, and we took them all at once, because surely twelve pills split down the middle wouldn't cause any messes. We thought they were benzos. The nausea hit us at the same time and we ran for the bathroom. We giggled through the stomach aches as the room turned circles around us. He had said, "Why are we so heavy?" I remember his mouth moving to form the words, but I don’t remember what it sounded like. I think that’s silly. I hear Tyler’s voice every day, but this memory seems so far away. Where is it going?

 

Entry 40

I told him about it today. He said, "I'm still heavy, Joshie," without moving his mouth. Now he won't say anything at all.

 

Entry 41

The howling is louder than ever before. I swear it's coming for me.  Or maybe it's coming from inside of me. Maybe I really am riddled with holes and it's just a breeze going through me. It's all I can hear, the ups and downs, rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling and rising and falling

 

Entry 42

This place is a hole. I keep getting pictures in my head, like my mind is making movies. I'm only half certain that I starred in them. There's one where we're holding hands on a rainy day, and another where Tyler’s just laughing, but I can't remember what it sounds like. There's another one where he's just standing there, smiling at me on a beach at sunset. I tell him about all of them. No sounds come from Tyler. His lips are stuck in a grin.

 

Entry 43

He said, "I think I'm still high." And this time, his mouth moved. This time, it was less like watching a memory and more like a connection. The part of me that wanted to go outside and check the sky for suns isn’t as strong as the part of my brain that fears the howling sound. There’s an ambulance coming for us in slow motion. Or maybe the city is under attack and somebody is sounding an alarm. Who would be doing that when the only two people on this plane of existence are in this room?

 

Entry 44

I think I must’ve opened my eyes for the first time today. Not the eyes I can see Tyler with. Those eyes never close. I think I opened the eyes that can see the howling noise. I’m not sure how I did it. One moment, I was staring out the tiny window in the shower. There was nothing beyond the fogged glass besides white. It became brighter and brighter until I had to shut my eyes, the ones I can see Tyler with. That’s when I was consumed by light and sound, numbness and white noise. There were voices, indecipherable. I was there but I wasn’t. No moving, no speaking, just there. Cold existence accompanied by that awful, haunting sound, that howling siren wailing away. It’s closer than ever, coming for me.  I think I hated it, but I can’t be sure. When I closed my eyes again, Tyler’s silence was broken by yet another sentence.

He said, “I can’t remember what feeling is like. Do you remember Josh?” Tyler’s eyes inspect the floor, his brows drawn together. He hasn’t moved without my help. Never moves.

I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t remember.

 

Entry 45

I don’t think these are my real eyes. I can see Tyler, hear his nonsensical sentences that only halfway make sense, but I don’t think these are my real eyes. When I wrapped my fingers around my throat and squeezed, nothing happened. I screamed and clawed at my own skin, felt the flesh split where my nails were digging trenches, but all the color on my fingertips disappeared after one breath and before another. I didn’t feel anything. When I wrapped my fingers around Tyler’s throat, words came tumbling from his mouth.

He said, “Let’s go out tonight, we deserve to have some fun.”

He said,, “Check out that guy in the corner, he says he’s got something for us, if we want it. Should we do it, Josh?”

He said, “One time won’t kill us, c’mon. Twelve is not a big number, we just gotta split it down the middle.”

He said, “onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelve.”

When I wrapped my fingers around Tyler’s throat, I didn’t feel anything. I screamed.

 

Entry 46

The entire world shifted again today. Shards of glass that make no sound flew all around us and our feet never left the ground. It was like an earthquake, if an earthquake could pick your house up and roll it around a few times. Curtainless rings rattled along the shower rod without a sound. Nothing here makes any sense. Tyler is the only thing making any sense anymore.

He said, “I thought I was having a heart attack the day I met you.” We were on the ceiling, light fixtures for bath mats. There were slivers of mirror in our eyes.

He said, “You assured me everything was fine, and I swear you said it in italics.  _Everything is fine_.” When it stopped, we were as we had been. My pen was stuck in the drain of the sink, these pages were folded and torn.

He said, “Everything is fine everything is fine everything is fine everything is fine everything is fine e ver yt hing is f ine ev e ry th in g i s f in e

 

Entry 47

The ground won’t stop trembling. I can feel it in my bones. My skin vibrates. I ran for the front door and checked the sky for suns today. I could see it setting in the distance. Orange and yellow and pink with white fluffy clouds, fading into a blue and indigo star-filled sky with an ocean resting beneath it. The Tyler in my mind smiles at me with his toes curling in the sand. I blinked with my fake eyes and I was wrapped up in the chilling atmosphere of the bathroom once again. Tyler wasn’t smiling. Tyler was far too soft around the edges. I can’t lose him. I’m going to lose him.

Tyler keeps counting to twelve. He’s using his fingers. All the way up to ten on both hands and then two more on his left hand. He starts over again and again and again and again no matter how hard I scream he won’t stop make it stop make it stop make it stop

 

Entry 48

I want to wake up. The ground isn’t trembling. It’s me. It’s my body, my limbs, my skin is vibrating. When will that God awful howling noise become part of the background? Will it ever stop? Will I ever wake up? It’s louder than ever now. The orange glow from the sunset outside lights every single wall on fire. I can’t believe how much sunlight can seep through that tiny fogged glass window. I am surrounded, but I am not warm. I don’t think I’ve been warm in quite some time. I can feel my real eyes trying to open, but that world is too bright. I’m scared of all that sound. That light will blind me. I can’t tell what’s real. Is this what waking up feels like?

When I run towards the front door to check the sky for suns, it gets further and further away from me. The hallway turned into a treadmill, no matter how hard I pushed myself, there was no progress made. No progress. Stuck. The house must know how badly I want to run for that sunset.

Maybe dying is when your soul evacuates, rises up and up and up until the sun incinerates you. I keep asking Tyler if he remembers the sunset that day. He just keeps telling me that everything is fine.

 

Entry 49

When my real eyes opened, all that noise came rushing back to the forefront. I could hear it all and it sounded like everything and nothing all at once. I wanted to rip my ears from my skull, I just had to find my arms first. Every time I shut my eyes, they were forced open again by the ever invasive light. Everything is far too white where those eyes can see. I don’t want to go back. I can’t leave Tyler, but I can’t stay here. Trapped.

I swear I could hear Tyler, through all that sound. I swear to God I heard him saying my name, whisper soft and clear as day. I’d know Tyler’s voice anywhere. I wish I could remember what color his eyes are. When my real eyes finally closed again, I screamed. When my fist smashed through the tiny fogged glass window in the shower, the howling finally ceased. I need Tyler to fill this silence now more than ever.

 

Entry 50

Tyler’s talking again.  He said, “Josh, I’m right here, can’t you see me?”

He said, “Josh, open your fucking eyes. I knew twelve was too many, I was just being selfish.”

He said, “I think I’m too high to deal with this, Josh. I need you.”

“Wake up wake up wake up. You have to wake up.”  He’s talking right now. Won’t stop. Same thing over and over and over and over. He’s saying, “They want you to wake up."

I can feel my real eyes trying to open and--

  
  


_A blur. Mostly sounds, partially words. I was there but I wasn’t._

_“We got a pulse!”_

_“Oh thank God.” Tyler._

_“Get him on the stretcher.”_

_“I need to go with.” Tyler._

_“That’s fine, sir, but please, stand back.”_

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Tyler._

_The entire world tosses and turns. I think somebody probably holds my hand at some point. I’m not exactly there for that either. People talk, I fade out. We stop. I come back in. Where was I before this?_

 

**\----**

 

“You were asleep,” Tyler says to me. His voice is soft, tired. I think maybe he should’ve been asleep too. I can see how tired he is before I decide to close my eyes again. Are these my real eyes? How silly. Of course they are.

“I’m so sorry, Josh.”

It’s okay, I don’t say. I hardly remember it all anyway, I don’t say. I can only hum to let him know I heard him.

The second time I open my eyes, I can see the bruise blue bags weighing Tyler’s eyes down from his cross legged position at the foot of my bed. He’s speaking, but not to me. I can hear it all.

“Please, he needs me. He doesn’t have anybody here. He can’t wake up alone.” Tyler.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Joseph, immediate family only.”

I say, “Tyler."

Tired eyes land on me with a weight I’ve never known. A man I’ve never seen before looks at me with different eyes. Dressed in white; a doctor.

“Please stay,” I say.

When I move my arm, it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. Feels like nothing, pins and needles; television static; the sound of rushing waters. My fingers open and close. His fingers find mine in a middle ground near my right hip. It brings a new level of reality into my line of sight. I can feel warmth in the white noise that has my body held captive.

The man in white sighs. “Very well. I’ll have someone bring you a more comfortable seat.”

“Thank you.” Said as one, Tyler with sound, and I with a rasp. His fingers squeeze mine and I can’t reciprocate. I assume he knows it’s appreciated. Tyler always knows.

All these walls are blue. Blue blankets to cover me, Tyler’s eyes stuck carrying sets of blue baggage. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. Blue. In the middle of all that blue, I can see his eyes are dark brown.

**\----**  

Two nurses bring in an entire recliner for Tyler to sit in. He thanks them and makes no move to use it just yet. My toes are shoved beneath his legs, still crossed. If I think really hard about it, I can get my fingers to grip his. He’s so calm. I don’t think I get it.

I say, “I need a cigarette.”

He says, “First thing after this place, okay?”

“When am I leaving?”

He frowns. “I don’t know, Joshie. When you’re better.”

“What even happened?” I ask. My eyes are closed.

“Thought maybe you overdosed,” Tyler says, so soft. “Except I took the same stuff you took and I was fine.”

“Oh,” I tell the tiles on the ceiling.

“Allergic reaction to a generic version of some narcotics, or some shit,” he tells me.

My brain blanks. Fizzles and dies. All that comes out of me is, “Wow.” And five seconds later. “Where were we?”

“Do you remember anything?”

Josh thinks and thinks and thinks. “A-a party. Lots of noise. A bathtub. Mostly-yeah, mostly the bathtub and the noise. Awful.”

I hear Tyler huff a small laugh. “Probably the ambulance. Came up the street twice because they missed the house on the first pass.”

“Huh.”

“I wasn’t sure if you were messing with me or not,” Tyler confesses. “One minute, the room was spinning, and the next, the whole world was crashing down around me.”

Some strange feeling inside of me says we’ve been here before. I scowl up at the ceiling.

He says, “I just kept talking to you. Wasn’t sure what else to do besides tell you everything is fine. Everything is fine, Josh.”

A pause.

He says, “I thought you were dying.”

Our fingers, locked together, get a little tighter. I say, “I thought I was too.”


End file.
